Go north, he said.
Sometimes, she rather hated Shrike. Well, actually, she hated him all of the time. She hated the entire Crew -- but that was the way of it. There wasn't a wolf, coyote, or vermin Procyon had met that she didn't hate. Mild dislike -- or perhaps vague disinterest -- was honestly the best she could hope for.
At least it gave her something to do, though. The woman was not a particularly social creature, and scouting was something she was best suited for. She had traversed north, a little west, and now a little east. There was a pack in the distance, if she wasn't mistaken, but Procyon remained undecided if she wished to taste the boarders. For now, she would settle for finding the roaring falls, getting a drink -- and if she was lucky, a meal. Gathering intelligence was much easier on a full stomach.